


You Want a Revolution? I Want a Revelation

by getoffmybarricade



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Les Miserables
Genre: Courfeyrac Is A Little Shit, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Hamilton - Freeform, Idiots, M/M, More tags to be added, musical theatre, performing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmybarricade/pseuds/getoffmybarricade
Summary: The performing arts group that Courfeyrac and most of the Abc attended were putting on a production of ‘Hamilton.’Now, a common misconception was that Enjolras hated theatre. But in reality, he loved it.He used to perform quite often and it was always the highlight of his year but...But then The Incident happened.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Enjolras/Grantaire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	You Want a Revolution? I Want a Revelation

The performing arts group that Courfeyrac and most of the Abc attended were putting on a production of ‘Hamilton.’ 

Enjolras knew this because not a single one of them had stopped talking about it for months.  _Months_.  He was fully prepared to listen to the soundtrack again and get to know the show better once he heard they were performing in it, but they had begun to sing the songs so frequently that they were quite painful to hear. 

And that was entirely their fault. 

Now, a common misconception was that Enjolras hated theatre; that he hated singing and dancing and acting and all of the typical theatre kid stuff that his friends loved. But in reality, he actually loved it. He used to perform quite often and it was always the highlight of his year but...

But then The Incident happened. 

And it hit him so hard that he immediately dropped out of theatre, putting his mind to other matters and trying to ignore the nagging voice that was trying to tug him back there. And obviously he went to watch his friends and supported them and was genuinely happy for them - and he missed it, of course he did - but he wasn’t going back. 

Not yet. 

So, anyway. The show was in the upcoming few months and they were apparently still short of a lead. Naturally, Courfeyrac’s first instinct was to come hurtling into his apartment declaring that Enjolras just simply  had  to step up and take the role whilst it was still there. 

His answer was as unsurprising as ever. 

“No, Courf.” 

“Enj! Come  _on_.  I know you want to.” Courfeyrac whined, tugging at the hem of his sweater. Enjolras’s sweater, actually, now that he got a closer look at it. Yeah, it definitely did not belong to Courf though when he’d taken it he really didn’t have a clue. 

“ _ If _ I wanted to then I would have agreed to audition. I haven’t, therefore I do not ‘ _want to_ ’.”  He sighed and moved into the kitchen, groaning as he heard Courfeyrac follow after him, stomping around heavily like a child. 

“You can’t expect us to perform one cast member short, can you?” 

“You won’t be. Ask someone else.” 

“Oh yeah?” Courfeyrac grumbled. “Like who?” He looked very tired, dark circles under his eyes from months of tireless rehearsing and Enjolras almost,  almost,  said ‘yes’ purely because he looked so worn out and goddamn it...he was giving him those dreadful puppy eyes....

But...maybe he  _ could - _

No.  _No_.  Absolutely not.

“Feuilly?” He offered helpfully, “Jehan? Bahorel?” 

“They’re all already casted, Enj! You know that! Please?”

“Courf,” he groaned, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to the audition.” 

“Why?” He whined, stomping his foot and looking like a kicked puppy. 

“I can’t sing.” 

“Liar,” Courfeyrac said immediately, his eyebrows shooting up so far they were in danger of disappearing into his hair, “I’ve heard you singing along to the radio. I know you’re good.” 

“Not as good as you and Ferre and everyone else.” 

“Maybe not, but I still know you’re good. Plus, it doesn’t really matter - well, it does, actually - but I think you’re not letting on how good you are, Enjolras. I think you’re lying to us.” 

_You have no idea_ ,  he thought internally. 

Courfeyrac hopped onto the counter, swinging his legs back and forth so that they hit the cabinets below in a rather annoying pattern. His eyes landed on the fruit bowl next to him and he rummaged around, deciding on an apple. He didn’t eat it however, merely spun it around on the counter absently. Enjolras frowned, Courfeyrac’s previous words drifting back into his mind. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Courf. You’re talking nonsense.” 

“Enjolras, please? Come on,  _please_?” 

“Courfeyrac.” He said sharply, tired of having the same conversation a million times. What Courfeyrac didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and in any case Enjolras was not ready to go back. “I’ve given you my answer and you can take it or you can ignore it, I really couldn’t care less, but you’re not changing my mind and you need to understand this! I’m not auditioning, can we leave it at that?” 

Courfeyrac’s face dropped significantly, and Enjolras felt bad about raising his voice at him but he was fed up of hearing the same thing over and over again. It was boring. 

Courf slid down off the counter and turned to the window, looking dramatically off into the distance. “You’d do it if Ferre asked you,” he said sullenly, probably more to himself than to Enjolras. 

“Probably, yeah.” He said resignedly, rubbing a hand through his hair irritably. 

“You would?” 

Courfeyrac looked up, his dark eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry, per say, but he looked quite annoyed. And, fuck. See, what he’s said made sense in his head but now he’d actually voiced it he could understand how it could easily be misinterpreted. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like Courfeyrac, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. He was one of his best friends and he would trust him with his life if it came to it. It was just-

Combeferre wasn’t as demanding as Courfeyrac. He listened and he didn’t expect anything from anyone without reasoning and he understood when to step back and not cross someone’s boundaries. If Combeferre came round and asked Enjolras to audition, then he would, because he knew it would be important and possibly the only option left. He didn’t know Enjolras’s reason for dropping out of theatre, especially when it was going so well, but he knew to leave it be and wait for him to come around. 

Courfeyrac however, despite his good intentions, tended to get carried away easily and was very prone to dramatics. Courfeyrac  _ wanted  _ him to audition, sure, but he didn’t  _ need  _ him to. That was the difference. If it was truly something that needed to be done, Ferre would see sense and politely ask him later on when the mood was right. And even if Enjolras were to refuse, Ferre wasn’t likely to get angry with him. 

Enjolras swallowed. 

“Yes. If Combeferre asked me I would do it.” 

“So, I’ll just ask him to persuade you then?” Courfeyrac said triumphantly, a slight smirk creeping up into his voice. 

“By all means do,” Enjolras said calmly, shrugging his shoulders. Courf quirked an eyebrow questioningly, “but he won’t do it. He’s respectful, Courf, he won’t push me. He understands this.” 

Courfeyrac’s shoulders squared out a little as his face dropped again, all traces of humour gone. 

“And I don’t?” 

Enjolras shrugged. 

“You’re a dick.” Courfeyrac snapped, stalking out of the apartment and letting the door close with a slam. 

“And you’re still wearing my sweater.” He said under his breath. He glared at the apple on the counter and threw it with greater force than necessary back into the bowl, still grumbling under his breath despite there being no one else around to hear. 

Courfeyrac rarely got angry. An angry Courf was an unfamiliar sight; a bouncy Courf or a laughing Courf, sure, but angry? No. 

And Enjolras felt bad, he really did, but he wasn’t ready and he knew that the other man wouldn’t stay mad at him for long. 

(He’d probably call again tonight to apologise). But for now, Enjolras was more focused on tidying up his apartment. 

It wasn’t his mess. It was (shocker) Courfeyrac’s mess. It usually was and although the guy didn’t even live with him and Ferre he had a weird habit of hosting parties anywhere but his own home. 

Usually at Enjolras’s. 

It didn’t particularly bother him as such, but he did wish that perhaps he would help  _clean_.  Even a little. But whatever. 

Combeferre wasn’t coming home until much later tonight and he knew that if the apartment was a mess than the man would stay up late all night trying to figure out where everything went in the dark. Because god forbid he turn on the lights. He had a strange habit, that Enjolras had never managed to understand, of returning home late and just not bothering to simply flick a switch to enable him to  see.  It didn’t help that the guy was practically fucking blind. 

So it was probably best to get a head start on tidying up a little. 

He fumbled around in his pockets for his phone and connected it quickly to his speakers, wincing only a little at the loud ping that it emitted. Why it had to do that he would never figure out. He scrolled a while on his phone, flicking through hours of playlists and albums in an attempt to find something that he hadn’t already over-listened to. And then right near the bottom he found it. 

It was-

It was bloody ironic, that’s what it was. 

Or, in other words, it was _Hamilton: An American Musical._

Well, fuck. 

And in all honesty, it was only because he hadn’t listened to it in so long that he even clicked on it. The second the first few beats of music began to play he was instantly reminded of the younger version of himself that would blast out the music in his bedroom when his parents were out. His desire to play Eliza Schuyler at that point was amusing to look back on. 

He decided it was going to be entertaining to watch his friends perform in the show.

And, well, he could definitely see why he’d loved it so much in his younger years. 

_ I saved every letter you wrote me... _

Before he really knew it he was stood in his living room singing his heart out, imagining himself on that stage with the lights pointing right at him and the audience cheering and he wished with all his being that he could feel like that again. Feel the rush of adrenaline the first night that the curtains were drawn, the butterflies he felt whilst waiting in the wings to begin. 

No. 

_No_. 

He’d already decided that theatre was not for him. Not after what happened. 

He clenched his jaw and unplugged the speaker probably more forcibly than what was necessary. 

The music cut off instantly and he was left with an almost deafening silence. 

And then he practically jumped out of his skin as his phone rang loudly. He cursed under his breath and hit  a c cept  without really even looking at the caller. 

“Hello?”

“Enj! Hey, don’t hang up. Please?” Courfeyrac said quickly, talking rapidly down the phone. Enjolras frowned but said nothing, nodding and then realising literally no one could see him. 

“You still there? Great. Right, okay. Look, I’m sorry, Enj, you’re not a dick. Honestly. I’m just...ah, I don’t know, stressed? Yeah, very stressed. Even more stressed than Ferre gets when he’s given an assignment by his professor and he’s convinced that he’s going to fail even though he’s literally never failed a single thing. Literally all of his professors are in love with him - I mean, me too, except I’m not a professor I’m his boyfriend - which is  _ so  _ unfair because all of mine tell me I talk to much. I do  _ not  _ talk to much and either way everything that I say is very relevant and-“

“-Courf. Your point?” He interrupted, although there was a smile in his voice at his friend’s rambling that he was sure he could hear. 

“Right, sorry. Um, you don’t have to audition if you really don’t want to and I shouldn’t have pushed you into doing it.”

Enjolras shook his head a little, rolling his eyes fondly. He honestly couldn’t stay mad at Courfeyrac for very long - not that he even  was  particularly mad. 

“And I’m sorry for reacting badly, it was clear you’re under a lot of pressure right now and I should have been professional about it.” 

“Professional?” Courf laughed, and he could hear the smirk in his voice even over the phone, “Enj, I’m not your co-worker .” 

Enjolras snorted. 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continued, “we’re going out for ice cream tomorrow and  _ no, _ I don’t care that I’m lactose intolerant I’ll deal with that later.”

“Courf-“

“No, no,” he tutted, “no ifs, no buts. It’s my apology and I get to say what we do.”

Enjolras frowned, “Courf I’m not sure that’s how it-“

“-I said no ifs, no buts. Goodnight!” 

And with that the line went dead, leaving Enjolras seriously wondering if Courfeyrac possessed even one brain cell. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn’t planing on posting this but here we are  
> I just love both musicals and decided we needed this  
> Anyway, thanks for reading :)


End file.
